Season 10 Episode 1: The Devil Wears Biker Boots
by 9 feathers
Summary: This is my idea for Season 10, Episode 1, of Supernatural. Yes, I am aware that they announced some general plot for the first episode. "Musical-ish" is how they described it, but I think that it could be so much more intense than that. I will be ignoring the official season 10 canon. Hope you like it! Rated M for language, frightening imagery, and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Season 10 episode 1

What I think would be fun

Part One

Sam sat in front of the summoning circle, the herbs smoldering as the fire died out, and looked around for Crowley. As usual, the charismatic King of Hell spoke before Sam even saw him.

"I'm not even going to entertain you by playing the game, Sam, it's already done."

Sam stood slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Crowley's the entire time.

"What?" He said, "You already brought him back?"

"More or less—"Crowley was cut off as Sam rushed from the cell, stopping as he entered the main room of the bunker. Dean's back was turned to him, hunched over the radio, switching through the channels until he landed on AC/DC, Bon Scott bellowing the chorus of "Hell ain't a Bad Place to Be";

_If this is Hell_

_Then let me stay,_

Sam moved forward a few hesitant steps.

"Dean?"

Dean straightened up, then turned to face Sam. The blood still soaked his shirt, black from drying. He flashed Sam a smile, genuine enough, but there was something in his eyes that made Sam pause.

_Hell ain't a bad place to be!_

"Sammy." Dean said, still grinning. The First Blade was tucked into his waistband, it's black hilt just in sight from under his flannel. Crowley appeared near Dean, smiling that smug, closed-lip smile. It was fake though. Nervous. Sam could see that, and his gut tightened a little, but he pushed it off—relief that his brother was alive was enough to cloud his instinct.

A flutter of air, and Castiel stood before Sam, his back to Dean and Crowley.

"Sam—where is Dean? Metatron—" Castiel, reading Sam's expression, turned and saw Dean and Crowley. Dean had his back turned to them again, turning the volume on the music down. Castiel turned to Sam again, content. "Another lie of Metatron. He told me he had killed Dean."

Sam, all his doubts cleared by Castiel's appearance, began to move forward quickly to cross the room to Dean. Dean turned to face them again.

"Cas—glad to see you made it out."

_Late at night  
>Turns down the light<em>

Sam bumped into Castiel, who was suddenly in front of him, holding an arm out to stop Sam in mid-stride. Castiel brandished his angel blade, gritting his teeth furiously.

"Who are you?" He demanded, glaring at Dean. "Tell me now before I destroy you!"

"Cas! What the hell!?" Sam yelled, but didn't try to force his way past Castiel just yet.

_Tears me apart  
>Brings out the devil in me<em>

Dean held his hands up, still grinning slightly. "Whoa, whoa, Cas, calm down."

"That is not Dean, Sam. It's a demon." Cas said, almost spitting the last sentence. Sam looked back to Dean, startled, but growing angry. Dean's eyes flicked black, glittering with that familiar malicious look.

"Crowley, what did you do?" Sam demanded, also drawing a blade.

Crowley walked towards them slowly, shaking his head.

"For once, I did absolutely nothing." He said.

Castiel continued to stare at demon-possessed Dean, his face growing more puzzled by the moment. His hand holding the angel blade slowly lowered.

_Hell ain't a bad place to be  
>Hell ain't a bad place to be<em>

"It's only Dean in here." Dean said, his eyes black and wet like polished obsidian. He smirked. "Just a different flavor; cherry pie with- zest of sulfur." Sam looked to Castiel for help, knife still clenched in his hand. Castiel's face fell.

"It's him. He is possessing his own body." Castiel said, looking to Sam. "I can see the demon's face, and it is Dean." He lowered the angel blade entirely. "His soul has been… tarnished."

"Good to see you too, Cas." Dean said, his voice carrying a sarcastic and vicious tone.

"How—" Sam stammered, not yet lowering his blade.

"The mark of Cain needs a host moving and breathing. It isn't going to let Dean die. It trapped his soul inside his dying body and turned it black as pitch. Demonic, else the power destroy the host." Crowley explained, pacing slowly. "I didn't think it would…" He hesitated, trying to conceal his regret. "…I didn't think the story was literal. It is far beyond my time."

Sam looked trapped, breathing heavily, mind racing to comprehend what was happening. Dean, or what used to be Dean, moved a few steps forward, smiling, and Sam unconsciously stepped back, raising the demon blade against Dean's black eyes. Dean stopped and frowned, eyes turning back to their normal green. He looked at the blade pointed at him, and raised his eyes to meet Sam's.

"Sam—come on. You're not gonna kill me." Dean moved forward more, making Sam reflexively spin the blade into a defensive position.

"This is—this is way wrong, this is not okay, Dean, get back." Sam stammered, taking another step back.

"Really, Sam? After all you've done, all the times I stood by you with the demon blood, Ruby, unleashing the apocalypse, all that crazy crap you did when you didn't have a soul." Dean smirked, but stopped moving forward.

"You're a _demon_, Dean!" Sam looked to Castiel desperately. "Tell me we can fix this!" Castiel looked anguished, glancing over to Crowley for help.

"Don't look at me with that beaten puppy look, Castiel. I don't know how to "fix" it, and, after a bit of consideration, I don't think I'd want to." Crowley said, looking over Dean thoughtfully. Dean looked back to Crowley. "I think, actually, that this might be a fantastic business opportunity. Dean, seeing as you are a demon now, and I just the humble King of Hell, I think that makes you my employee."

"Crowley, you son of a bitch," Sam says stiffly, voice trembling, not taking his eyes off Dean, "you're going to help us turn him back, or we'll—"

Dean started chuckling under his breath, a cruel laugh that made everyone in the room fall silent, watching him for his response.

"What I find funny, is that you think _any_ of you have control over me. I will not be your Hell bitch, Crowley, and Sam, Cas, I ain't going with you either. For the first time in my life, I don't feel _obligations_ weighing me down. I can go and do whatever I want, and none of you can stop me." He drew the First Blade, considering it. "I can't die. And I don't care what happens to anyone anymore." And then he was gone.

The room stayed silent for minutes afterwards.

Castiel wished he knew what to do, and in those minutes, for the first time in months, he sent out a silent, desperate prayer. He pleaded to God that they might find a way to help Dean, and soon. Hearing of Dean's death at the hand of Metatron was bad enough, but Dean being a demon was worse. A demon with the Mark of Cain, _so_ much worse. He didn't even know where to begin.

Crowley pondered his actions, how Dean had slain Abbadon and Metatron almost easily, his torment in his final weeks. It was all Crowley's fault. Normally, he would glory in this, but… the sliver of humanity in his charcoaled soul cried out for the pain he caused just those Winchester boys. All his malice had been concentrated on those two, and looking at Sam, he could see that the Winchester was broken. Not even time in Lucifer's cage caused the pain that he could see in Sam now. And Dean was probably going to go after Crowley. It was all his own fault.

Sam's mind had gone white. It was the first time in his life where he felt truly, utterly lost. He understood why Dean was so desperate to keep them together. Cas was going to have to work on rebuilding Heaven, and Sam was going to be alone. No Dad. No Bobby. No Helen and Jo. No Dean. His brother's last human words echoed in his mind,

"I'm proud of us…"


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

One year later

The kid sat at the bar, sliding the ID back into his wallet. It claimed his name was Paul Smith, 22 years old, from Sydney, Nebraska. He could pull it off. He knew that a confident but casual attitude and the right clothes can get a 17 year old like himself into most college town bars, even without a fake ID. The University of Kansas was pretty relaxed in terms of the enforcement of underage drinking. He took his first swig of the beer he ordered, and then looked at the label. He asked for a Heineken, but got a Stella Artois. Figures. A man in a Wyoming Cowboys ball cap sat down at the bar next to him, and started talking in low tones to a black guy who had been there for a few minutes already.

"…four young women in the last two weeks. Their throats cut in hotels and motels around the area. The only connection is this bar." Wyoming said.

"Sounds like a serial killer. Maybe just a drifter or something. Doesn't sound like our kinda work." The black man spoke with a heavy Texan accent.

"I thought so too, except… I checked out the most recent vic', and,"

"God _dammit_, Mason, did you break into the morgue?"

"Naw, man, I worked my way in this time. FBI card works like a charm. Nothin' like bureaucracy to let us slip through the cracks."

The kid listened intently. He came to the bar for the same reason. One of his friends, Sara Cummins, a 20-year-old, incredibly attractive girl, had been one of the first killed. He noticed the pattern too, and wanted to stake out the bar for the guy who had been murdering them.

"Whatever. Just tell me what you found." The Texan sighed.

"Right, right. Listen, man, there was sulfur in her hair, in her ear, belly button, all over."

"Demons."

Mason, the Wyoming guy, nodded gravely, and turned to the drink in front of him.

"Cody, I don't know, man, maybe we're over our heads in this one. We've never hunted demons before."

The kid almost choked on his beer. Demons? Was this guy being literal, or what? _Great. Way to stumble on the cuckoo lead._ He thought, and turned away to face outwards into the bar. Sure, there were plenty of guys and girls there, all talking and laughing and flirting around. In a corner booth a boozy looking douchebag in a band t-shirt with the sleeves cut off nuzzled a girl's neck. Nothing out of the ordinary. The age range in the bar was from 17 (he recognized some underage faces) to 30 or so. It was the most popular bar in Lawrence; no one was going to miss out. Scattered throughout were two or three plainclothes cops, not very subtle as they sipped at ginger ale or coke, watching the crowd carefully. There was a cop in uniform at the door to deter trouble. Everything seemed okay. The kid tuned back into the conversation next to him. Crazy was better than nothing.

"We can take _one_ demon. I've got some holy water in a bottle in my trunk, for emergencies. We can research an exorcism, and take the bastard out." Cody said quickly.

"Whoa, Cody, hang on, we don't even know who the thing is yet." Mason said.

He couldn't explain it, but the kid was struck by a sudden feeling of intense déjà-vous. He felt like he'd heard a similar conversation before, but that was ridiculous. He didn't know. It was bizarre. Everything about the situation felt eerily familiar. He looked around the bar again, feeling that he had missed something, but also sure that he wasn't going to find it at this bar. Not tonight. He had a hunch that the killer was smart, and would move on, and soon. The timeline was running out, he needed to make a plan, and move on it, quickly. He turned and made eye contact with Cody, who raised an eyebrow.

"What're you looking for, boy?" Cody said, prompting his friend to turn and look as well.

"Nothing, sorry. I just heard you talking, is all." He said, surprised that the two were so suspicious. There had to be something wrong with these guys. Maybe drugs? They sure didn't act like they were out of their minds, but their conversation made no sense at all.

"Kid, you don't want to get tangled up in this stuff." Mason said. "We're working on an investigation."

"I'm already tangled up in this. That serial killer murdered a friend of mine." The kid said defensively, growing offended. Did they think he was stupid? They already said they weren't feds. The two exchanged a look of pity, maybe, or at least that was how he read it.

"You were friends with one of the victims?" Mason prompted, leaning towards him so he wouldn't have to talk so loud. "What are you doing here? Are you staking out this bar? Seriously? Do you realize how dangerous this is?"

"It's none of your business."

"The hell it ain't!" Cody exclaimed. "This is our job, boy. You should head on home and mourn like the rest of your friends. Leave the bad guy catching to the professionals."

The 17 year old had an idea then. It was risky, but he didn't want to be butted out of his investigation. He didn't know why, but he felt responsible for the people around him, like no one else could help to keep them safe. He had to find the guy who was doing the killing.

He snorted and looked away, smiling at the bar in front of him, and shook his head slowly. He had to play this right.

"You guys are way out of your league with this." He said slowly, turning back to look at them. They looked surprised, and looked at each other.

"You're a hunter too?" Cody said in a low tone. Mason looked around the bar, blue eyes dark under his ball-cap, as if he was worried someone was listening. The kid played it off, shrugged, but inside, his mind was reeling with questions.

_ Hunter? Like, hunting animals? What the hell are these guys talking about? _

He realized quite quickly that these men were not normal investigators. They weren't Feds, nor cops, or private detectives. These men were something else entirely.

He took another drink of his beer, not trusting himself to look the men in the eye.

"Poor kid." Mason said, and his voice was so full of sadness that the kid couldn't help but turn to look. Mason stuck his hand out. "Mason Rodstrom. 'Been a hunter since I was 25. This is my partner, Cody Williams."

"You have any family left, boy?" Cody asked quietly, extending his hand. The kid looked at him, shocked.

"Uh—yeah." He said, and shook Cody's hand.

"Do they hunt too?"

"No—no I work alone." The kid felt himself slipping into the lies, growing scared, maybe he wasn't making the right choice. This was only his first semester of college. He thought with a flash of panic that it would break his mom's heart if he started skipping school—but this was too important. Even if Mason and Cody were crazy, he needed some adults to help him follow the leads he had. It also wouldn't hurt to have someone to watch his back. He needed to find that killer. For Sara, and before the killer hurt any other women.

"What's your name, kid?" Mason asked.

"Ben Braeden." The kid said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

The darkness was so complete; Julia Sanders couldn't see a thing, not the edge of a piece of furniture, not the frame of a door, nothing.

She gagged as she slowly woke, finding that some kind of cloth was jammed into her mouth, and tied around her head. She could hardly even swallow. She worked her jaw, not unlike the horses she grew up riding as they gnashed on a bridle's bit. Her eyes welled up with tears and they began to spill over, rolling down and off to her temples. As she came to full awareness, her breath hissed through her nostrils in panicked bursts. She arched her back, found herself tied by the wrists to a bed. Julia yanked her knees to her chest as she struggled into a seated position, her arms spread-eagled.

She slowly forced herself to calm down, her eyes slowly adjusting to the blackness. She couldn't bring her hands together to work at the binds of—duct tape? Lots of duct tape, enough that she felt there was no possible way for her to get out. She struggled desperately in a fit of panic, screeching behind her gag. Soon she calmed down again, and raked her brain for the reason behind her capture.

Julia could remember going to a bar in town, a smaller, not very popular one in Lawrence. It was owned by a friend of hers, and she was obligated to visit. She drank, flirted around with friends and strangers alike. It was supposed to be a great night. She was graduating her "super-senior" fifth year of college as a licensed civil engineer. Normally Julia wasn't so promiscuous, but she was just so damn relieved to be done with school. She should have known when to slow down, but just as she was considering going home, a couple guys entered the bar, really, _really_ attractive men, and the fun just started all over again. A few quick shots followed by a long, passionate kiss with one of the men, and Julia had found herself waving bye to her friends as she clutched at the canvas jacket of a handsome stranger.

The chilly air was just sobering enough for her to take a look around as she walked with the man. She realized that she was not in her right mind, and asked the man to take her home.

"Why don't I take you to my place." The man said, more of a statement of fact than a question. He was warm, she giggled as she moved in closer.

"I don't usually do this." She insisted, and then realized she had told him that at least seven times already that night. "Sorry." She said, and stumbled a bit; the man caught her and kept her on her feet.

They walked maybe a block more; Julia was in no state to measure any kind of distance, but she didn't think it was very far from the bar. Maybe the same street. She remembered looking up at a street sign and giggling,

"13th Street—bad luck thirteen!"

The man pushed her towards some stairs of an apartment complex. He laughed a low chuckle that made her skin crawl. Suddenly, Julia didn't want to go anywhere with the good looking, green-eyed man, but she went where he led her anyway. She walked into a room, the bed neatly made, simply furnished. She collapsed onto the bed and watched the man close the door behind him, and then glance over at her, smiling. She grinned and giggled, kicked her shoes off and lay on her stomach on the bed. Julia remembered looking at a picture frame on the nightstand that showed a wedding portrait of a couple, the people in the photo were clearly not even related to the man who just took her here, because they were Asian, and the man was _so_ not Asian. She thought that was strange for a fleeting second, but was distracted when the man took his jacket off and tossed it onto a chair. He then removed his shirt, revealing a tattoo on the left-hand side of his chest of a sun or something, and that was all it took.

Heartbeats later the two were immersed in fiery, passionate lovemaking, and the last thing Julia remembered was brushing her dark hair out of her face, and looking into eyes as black as coal.

That was all she remembered from before she woke up. Julia realized that she was probably going to die, that this man might even be that killer she had read about the previous day. Her terror made her sober, and her eyes had finally adjusted to the point where she could make out outlines of furniture, as well as a dark shape in one corner of the room. She started sobbing, her breath heaving through her lungs, she couldn't take her eyes off the dark shape that sat at the edge of her vision. The shape rose, and Julia started shaking uncontrollably. The figure crossed the room and turned a light on. Julia couldn't stop herself from slamming her eyelids shut against the sudden light, slowly she opened them and saw the man from the bar standing by a table near the bedroom window, covered by blinds. The man's eyes were black all over; it was like looking into the glassy eyes of a wasp. There was no hint of mercy in them. He wasn't human.

The man slowly approached, and Julia sobbed, unable to cringe away or even scream. He had a terrifying object in his right hand; the toothy jawbone of some kind of animal. It had a black hilt, and the yellowing teeth had thin edges but were far from sharp. This is when Julia realized that he meant to kill her with that bone, and it was going to be horrible. She could do little more than just sit still until he was at the edge of the bed. He raised the blade—and cut down on the binding that held her left hand to the bedpost. Her shoulders hurt, he cut the other binding. As soon as she freed her hands, she yanked the cloth from her mouth and tossed it on the ground. She looked up, surprised, and the man moved quickly to toss Julia her clothing.

"Get dressed, quickly." He said, tossing things into a duffel. "We don't have much time until that thing comes back." He looked over at her—his eyes were a normal, comforting green. Did she imagine the black eyes earlier? "Get dressed and then clean up." He repeated.

"Th—thank you." Julia said, relieved beyond belief. There was no way this man had been the one who tied her up. Why would he tie her up just to rescue her, unless he was trying to set up a scenario to play hero in. She must have been attacked and bound while he was away at some point. Maybe he was in the bathroom, or down the hall, or asleep in another room. Julia wasn't, however, exactly in the frame of mind to start asking questions. She pulled her shirt on and nearly tripped over her jeans as she went to the bathroom door. She pulled it open, and gasped, falling backwards as a man fell from behind the door.

It wasn't an attacker. It was the bloody corpse of a middle aged Asian man.

The man from the picture on the nightstand.

Julia looked behind her, and saw the man who brought her to that apartment standing there, smiling lightly at her. It was a terrible smile; empty, a malicious shell of a smile. Then he blinked and his eyes were black.

"I had you going there for a minute, didn't I?" He said cruelly. Julia wanted to scream and sob, furiously terrified, but her voice caught in her throat just as she was about to yell. Her throat was slowly tightening, in fact, and she couldn't understand why. She noticed that the man was holding a hand out towards her; it was curled into a claw as if he was choking her, but he wasn't even touching her. He raised the hand, and Julia felt herself being pulled to her feet as if he was clenching her neck and dragging her up. Her mind couldn't comprehend what was going on, and her heartbeat accelerated into panic mode, her mind flashed the idea that she was choking on something, but she knew somehow it was _him_. She mouthed one word: _why_?

The man laughed, loosening his invisible hold on her throat just enough so that she could breathe.

"Because this is what we do." He said simply. "Demons, anyway."

Julia widened her eyes, _demons?_

"It wasn't always this way. A little over a year ago, I would have done anything to stop something so evil from hurting people. Killing women? My brother and I woulda taken the demon down. Killed him, exorcized him, whatever." He looked her over, smile fading slightly. "Funny how things change when you're cursed."

Julia didn't take her eyes off the man—the _demon_. He seemed to be struggling with himself for a moment, looking past her into the bathroom. He was fixated by something behind her, black eyes staring with what looked like a hint of disgust, and maybe even misery. The look passed quickly though, and he returned his horrible gaze to Julia, grinning again.

"I'm only monologue to explain why I'm doing this. I like my girls to understand why they are about to die. I don't know. Maybe it's some leftover personality flaw from when I was human." He said.

_This guy is insane._ Julia thought. She had fully come to realize by that point that the man really was going to kill her; she had no way out.

"Please!" She choked, her black eye makeup leaving streaks down her face, her hair wild, face pale, like bad ghost cosplay. The man tilted his head slightly, and Julia was thrown into the wall next to the bathroom door by some unknown force, the drywall crumpled and she heard a sharp crack as her collarbone broke. She tried to cry out but the man tightened his invisible grip on her throat. He walked slowly to her, until he was mere inches from her face, one hand braced against the wall. He carried a smell like rotten things on him—earlier she hadn't noticed, but up this close it was unmistakable.

He moved his face to the side so his mouth was by her ear, he took a breath as if he was about to say something, but then didn't. Instead, a slow, growing pain flared up in her stomach, she tried to inhale sharply, but the grip on her throat wouldn't allow it. The more painful the feeling became, the dizzier her head became, and she looked down and puzzled over the growing red on her white t-shirt. It grew and expanded like a rose opening, and Julia had just enough time to wonder what it was before the darkness closed in, and she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part****Four**

The call didn't come until the next night, Saturday, in the middle of the second quarter of a Kansas v Nebraska football game. Ben was in the stands, yelling with his friends when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the caller ID; Cody Williams. It was from one of those hunters or whatever they call themselves. Ben's heart rate accelerated a bit—he was finally going to get somewhere with his investigation working with these guys, however crazy or misled they were, he just felt it. He hit "accept" and put the phone to his ear, covering the other ear with a hand.

"Hello?" Ben said loudly into the phone. "Sorry about the noise, I'm at the game."

"Ben—it's Cody from last night. We've got some info for you. What're you carrying?" Cody said, speaking up a bit so Ben could hear him over the crowd.

"What, like weapons? Uhh—just a pocket knife. Why?"

"There was another murder early this morning. He's changed his pattern though, Ben, the vic was never at that bar. They found her in someone else's apartment, stabbed through the stomach, the owner of the place is dead too. The cops think it's just a random killing, but Mason and I aren't so sure. We left the crime scene a little while ago, and we found sulfur there. The killer is smart, boy, he's switching it up to throw the police off his trail." Cody explained.

Ben wasn't so sure if Cody and Mason knew what they were talking about. Why was sulfur so important to them? Were they really still on that demon idea? Why was there sulfur near all the victims, anyway? Did the killer just go around sprinkling the yellow element everywhere? Ben knew from a class he was taking that sulfur was a common ingredient in a lot of fertilizers used in Kansas, it was known as the "fourth major nutrient", and was essential for crops to grow. Maybe the killer was a farmer or something. That doesn't even begin to narrow the suspect list down though, which at that point included everyone.

"Are we going after him tonight?" Ben asked, turning away from his group of friends on the bench. Cody didn't answer for some time, but Ben could hear him talking away from the phone.

Suddenly, Ben heard Mason exclaim, "_Shit_!" in the background, and Cody returned to the call.

"Ben, he's at the game. The killer is at the stadium somewhere."

Ben didn't respond for quite some time. He looked up and around the crowd, as if he could pinpoint the killer. The crowd churned blue and red, the screaming of the fans took on an underwater quality, muffled and senseless. He made eye contact with several fans, none of them seemed suspicious, but all of them were possible suspects. It was impossible to tell. The killer could be anyone; no one could possibly pick him out of the raucous crowd. Ben couldn't help but cast a suspicious glance at the KU mascot; the Jayhawk, as the red and blue costume bird jumped around, prompting the student side of the stadium to cheer.

"Ben?" Cody said, breaking Ben out of his paranoid search.

"How do you know he's here?" Ben asked, jumping off the bench and waving to his friends as he trotted down the stairs. He pulled the KU ball-cap down further over his forehead.

"We uh, just visited a friend who's got good instinct for this kind of stuff." Cody said. "A psychic."

Ben stopped dead. "You went to a psychic to help us find this guy?" The investigation was getting weirder and weirder. A _psychic_? _Really_?

"She's the real deal boy, hasn't been wrong yet." Cody assured.

"Whatever you say. Did she give any details?"

"Naw, just said she saw the stadium."

_Of course. _

"Hey kid," Mason was on the phone now, "don't do anything crazy okay? We're on our way over there, and the three of us can work on this together."

Ben thought that was reasonable. He didn't know where to begin anyway. He got in line for concessions, figuring it was a good vantage point of some of the crowd. He tried to look casual while scanning through the masses of students and fans, but he didn't even know what to look for. The killer was probably a man, probably not a Nebraska fan, and that was about all he could determine. Mason said he'd interviewed a few people that had last seen the victims, but none of them could remember anything significant.

He paid for a bag of Cracker Jack and wandered around a bit, heading towards the entrance of the stadium so he could keep an eye out for Cody and Mason. At the sound of a grumbling V8, he turned to watch the parking lot, expecting Mason's big F-250 King Ranch, but instead a Chevy Impala rolled into the lot, her driver—a guy with longish hair—leaning to look out the window at the crowd behind the gates. Ben turned his attention back to the game, feeling weird for staring around at people so much. Halftime started, and the electric chords of some rock song started as the band prepared to play. Ben watched the Chevy's tall driver pass him quickly, he walked briskly to the stands, but was stopped by a security guard. Ben could see the man looking exasperated as the rent-a-cop gave him a lecture, but the man whipped out a badge and ID and showed it to the guard.

_FBI is here_, Ben thought_, interesting. _

Ben turned back to watch the entrance, and saw Cody and Mason making their way towards him. Mason had made a half-assed attempt at blending in by wearing a KU t-shirt under his usual tan Carhartt jacket, though he still wore his Wyoming Cowboys hat. Cody didn't even try—he was wearing the same rebel flag Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt he wore the night before. Cody grinned at him as he approached, Mason just scanned the crowd.

"We've got what we need for this, but it's gonna be tricky picking the thing out of the crowd." Cody said, clapping a hand on Ben's shoulder. Mason was looking ahead towards the stands, at the Chevy-driving Fed.

"Hey, Cody, look who we've got." Mason nodded towards the Fed, Cody looked in that direction.

"Well shit." Cody said, suddenly looking troubled.

"Who is he?" Ben asked. "Is it bad that the feds are involved?"

"Sam Winchester is about as much a fed as we are. We worked with him and his brother on a vamp hunt a few years back." Mason said.

_Vampires? God—give me a break._ Ben began to wonder if it was a smart move working alongside these guys after all. How long until the crazy wears off on him?

"Well—that's good he's here, right?" Ben watched Sam Winchester finish his conversation with the security guard, then move to go under the stands.

"Lately, a Winchester on the scene means it's something either really big, or really evil." Mason explained.

"Prob'ly both." Cody added, and then started towards the stands. "I'm gonna go ask him what's going on."

"Right there with you." Mason said. "Ben, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on this exit. If you see anyone suspicious leave, follow him." Mason tossed Ben the keys to the truck.

Ben nodded, not wanting to challenge him, and moved to a spot where he could see as much of the crowds as possible. He glanced behind himself and craned his neck to see the Chevy Impala – probably a late 60's, early 70's model—sitting in the far back of the parking lot. A fed probably wouldn't have to park all the way back there, so apparently that Winchester guy _was_ like Cody and Mason. A hunter. But did they honestly expect him to believe that they ran around the country in their spare time hunting monsters and demons? Maybe they believed it, but Ben couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that those things that go bump in the night are real. If monsters were real, it'd be in the news all the time, right? Like, _Vampire Mafia at War with Werewolf Gang in Central Chicago_. And if demons were real, there would be legitimate evidence of exorcisms, preachers' daughters' heads spinning around, stuff like that. But there isn't. So there aren't. _Right_?

Ben didn't have long to wonder about it, because Cody came running back soon enough, Mason not with him.

"Sam and Mason are going to stake this place out. Things just got a helluva lot more complicated. Come on, boy, we're leaving." Cody didn't stop, just grabbed Ben's arm as he passed, dragging the kid along with him.

"What's going on?" Ben said, removing his arm from Cody's grip, jogging a little to keep pace with the taller man.

"It's the other Winchester—Dean. He's possessed, and he's the one going around killing women."

Cody explained that it made the job more difficult because the thing would have knowledge of advanced hunter tactics, and that Sam was going to have to be directing the hunt a bit more than Cody liked. Sam was holding something back, and Cody could tell, and that infuriated him. Cody thought it was dangerous to not have all the context behind a hunt, especially when it came to demons, but Sam insisted that he didn't have anything else.

In any case, the hunters quickly realized that if the demon was at the stadium, they'd never find him, especially if he knew he was being hunted, and didn't want to be found. They decided to call it a night, and to keep the scanners running, just in case anything comes up. Until then, Cody and Mason were frustratingly out of ideas, and Sam was holding back information.

That night, Ben collapsed into his dorm bed, his roommate groaning at the late hour, quickly falling back asleep. Ben stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, and finally fell asleep himself.

_He was 11 or 12 again, standing in his old house's garage. He tossed a baseball back and forth in his hands, the ball arching slowly like only something in a dream would. He didn't know why, but he felt like he was breaking some rule, and he glanced behind him, nervous, at the garage door, as if he was afraid of getting caught. He looked back into the garage, a car sat in the middle of it, covered by a tan tarp. Whatever car it was had hard lines, sharp angles, that wide hood that screamed muscle. Ben stepped forwards slowly, set the ball down, reached forward, and pulled the cover off the car. A gleaming black Chevy Impala—1967, he remembered someone explaining to him. He crept forward and peered inside. The creamy leather seats were worn but not abused, in the back was a cardboard box filled with small rectangular boxes—cassette tapes. A little green army man crouched at the ready, crammed in the right hand side rear ashtray. Ben moved down the streamlined side of the muscle car—being careful not to touch it-and noticed the trunk was slightly ajar. This was too much for his curiosity, and he lifted the hatch, the trunk was empty. Or so he thought. There was a false bottom, and Ben used his other hand to struggle to lift that hatch as well. He stared, stunned, at the biggest collection of weird stuff and weapons he'd ever seen. _

Ben woke to his phone ringing.

*Next time:

The demon possessing Cody released his invisible hold on Mason, who fell to his knees, coughing. The other demons looked around, as if unsure what they should do, and held in place by the shock at what the kid just did. Sam was released by Dean's hold, his demonic brother entirely distracted.

"I won't be like you," Ben rasped, blood beginning to stain his teeth. "I won't be a monster."


End file.
